Married To My Billionaire Stepbrother novel Chapter 378

Chapter 378: Cathy And Vincent

Vincent stepped out of the car and looked up at the apartment building, its windows glowing under the starry sky.

Back after so long... but it feels like I’m finally home.

He entered the building, took the elevator, and headed upstairs. After punching in the password, he stepped inside the apartment and casually made his way to the kitchen, feeling thirsty.

Just as he reached the entrance, a woman wrapped in a bath towel—with her wet hair bundled up in another towel—was pulling out a water bottle.

"You never stop seducing me, do you?" he commented, making the woman jump in fright.

"What the hell?" Cathy gasped, placing a hand over her heart. She hadn’t even realized when he’d entered the apartment. "What are you doing here?"

Ignoring her question, he walked over to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. "Just because I was gone for a while, you seem to have forgotten I live here too."

"I thought you were gone for good," she said, stepping farther away from him.

He took a sip, then looked at her, giving her a head-to-toe glance. "Tsk. You haven’t improved at all. You’ve dropped to a solid six. Not even slightly seduced."

"I’d rather die a virgin than seduce an ugly, silver-haired deer like you," she snapped, visibly angry and ready to slap the arrogance out of him. "What’s wrong with my body? I’m a ten—it’s your vision that’s deteriorated."

Unfazed by her fury, he placed the empty bottle aside and rummaged through the fridge. "You better hold that towel tight and spare my eyes from the trauma of seeing your not-so-appealing naked body."

"You—!" She looked down, saw her towel slightly loosened, and quickly tightened it—only to notice him pulling out the ice cream pack she had saved for herself.

"That’s mine..." she said, annoyed.

He looked at the pack in his hand. "And now it’s mine," he said, walking out of the kitchen without another glance.

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Cathy wanted to snatch it back but realized her current state. She rushed to her bedroom, threw off the towels, and quickly slipped into her pajamas.

"That bastard dares to eat my ice cream," she muttered and hurried out of the room, determined to grab it back before he finished it all.

By the time she reached the drawing room, Vincent was sitting comfortably on the sofa, legs stretched out on the center table, enjoying the ice cream while watching TV.

She crept up from behind the sofa, ready to snatch it from his hands—but the moment her hands reached out, one of them was caught in a firm grip. In the next second, she was flipped over as if she weighed nothing and landed flat on the sofa.

"If it had been a stranger," she heard him say coolly, "you’d have landed straight on the center table and come out with your back broken for life. Be thankful you landed on the sofa."

She lifted her head and glared at him angrily.

Getting up, she stood in front of him, deliberately blocking his view of the TV.

"Get out of the way. You’re disturbing my relaxing time," he said calmly, putting another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

"Give me back my ice cream! I need it after drinking, or I can’t sleep."

He put the last spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. "It’s already finished," he said, showing her the empty ice cream tub.

She stared at it in disbelief. "That was half a kilo! Are you a snow monster to eat it so fast?"

"When predators are around, you’ve got to eat fast before your food gets snatched," he said, holding the empty container out to her. "You can lick the leftovers."

She clenched her fists and glanced at the clock. At this hour, the ice cream shops would be closed—no home deliveries either. It was freaking past midnight.

After attending Natalie’s party, she’d gone out drinking with Mia, and now... no ice cream. She genuinely felt like crying.

"I curse you to rot in hell after you die," she snapped, eyes slightly moist as she turned to go back to her room. "Bastard..." she muttered, storming off, unleashing every curse word she knew under her breath.

Vincent looked down at the empty container in his hands, then frowned as her tear-filled eyes came back to mind.

So annoying, he thought, pulling out his phone and making a quick call to his people. After giving some orders, he returned to his room.

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Cathy, lying restlessly in her bed, grumbled, "Who the hell is at the door at this hour? Must be someone for that thug."

The bell continued to ring for a while, but no one opened the door.

Angrily, she sat up in bed, her wet hair—she had skipped drying due to her frustration towards Vincent—now clinging to the sides of her face.

"Seems like someone’s asking to die at my hands tonight."

She stormed out of bed and walked into the drawing room, only to find it empty.

The doorbell rang again, and she flung the door open. "What the hell—"

"Ms. Cathy, this is for you."

She blinked at the man in casual clothes—a T-shirt and trousers—holding a few familiar-looking boxes inside a transparent plastic bag.

Before she could ask anything, he handed the bag over and left.

"I didn’t order this..." she mumbled, glancing toward the closed door of the guest room. "That jerk seems to have some humanity left in him."

"Shut up!" she snapped. "Once you’re done admiring them, throw them out. The fragrance from all those flowers your fans brought is making me nauseous."

"Oh my god! We didn’t expect you to finally open the door instead of that sulky woman! We can finally see you up close!"

Cathy stormed over. "Who are you calling the sulky woman? I’ve been tolerating you girls for the sake of not upsetting the young, accepting the trash you bring for this hooligan."